Oh! A companion! How wonderful would it be to have someone always at her side! To take the sting of loneliness away in the dark of night, to care for - the need for something (someone) to love is great. But to have to compete for it against Lyanna? Yael privately blanches inside, covering it up with a breathy “Oh…”

Tiny pons, indeed. For all intents and purposes, Yael is a petite mare, but it seemed… a negative thing coming from his spittled mouth. Items were stolen? Well that’s rather unfortunate. Yael isn’t quite sure who would dare to steal a Yeti’s treasures. If he wants it back, they must surely be valuable to him - either for their beauty or what they’re made of.

Once again, Yael’s lack of magic in this world hinders her. She watches as Isopia and Hubris make a frozen, dangerous looking ornament, while another colt makes one of fire. Hmm. It seems the Yeti will have quite the varied selection to choose from. In the wake of her limitations, Yael decides that she must again give of herself; her shiny, gilded feathers could be quite fetching and remind the snow beast of his old crown (though she realizes it may be a non-traditional design. Her lips purse into a thin line as she glances over at Lyanna and shrugs, before reaching around to her wings.

First things first - she slides her golden wing band off, the item that the giving tree presented her with not too long ago. It blends in with the feathers at the joint, still shiny and new and untarnished by any weather mishaps. Putting that on the ground, Yael then flicks her tail to her left side and grabs a few silvery strands with her teeth. Cheeks and brow distort in a faint wince, remembering the howling white witch who last got a pieces of her silvered hair; how did she manage to get herself into such situations? She’d kept a wary eye out for the madwoman ever since then - luckily there’d been no sight of her.

On the mental count of three, Yael yanks and out several fine, glinting strands. Those are laid across the golden circlet. Now back to her wings - she reaches back for six of her mid-sized feathers. Laboriously, she wraps the strands in and out of the feathers, anchoring them to the inside of the golden circlet, so that they might rise high above the Yeti’s head. It is simple, but awfully shiny, and looks like it’s wrought all in precious gold. Picking it up gingerly with her teeth, Yael follows the rest of them and carries her creation to the Yeti’s feet, laying it delicately on the ground. “A crown of gold,” she says lightly, and then adds, “Fit for ze Keeng of ze Mountain.”

Do Yetis even like compliments?

yael